


Wicked in the Bath

by AmyriadfthINGs



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Athelstan POV, Bath Sex, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3682677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyriadfthINGs/pseuds/AmyriadfthINGs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wicked bathtimes - early in their relationship Ragnar assists Athelstan with washing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked in the Bath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amoama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoama/gifts), [lilithilien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithilien/gifts).



> Because written in Bathwick. Coping with canon.

Ragnar comes to him while he is washing the dirt of a day's work with the livestock off his body.

It's not so much that he hears the animal skins being pulled back, but feels the cold air brush along his wet shoulders.

For a moment Athelstan panics. What now? He hasn't been here long enought to be certain of his fate or whatever it is Ragnar Lothbrok has in mind for him. At the moment those two things are one and the same.

He only knows he rejected the invitation to his and Lagertha's bed the other night. What if he is not to be safe anymore when he washes, when he sleeps? He knows about slavery in all his forms. He has seen them.

Athelstan turns his head, hunches up his shoulders on instinct. He sees Ragnar's eyes, blue and startling, the white of his teeth. He thinks the crinkling of his eyes and mouth are friendly, not threatening revenge. He thinks Ragnar is naked as he comes to him. He makes himself not look.

"Priest," Ragnar addresses him. Athelstan swallows. "What is it you want," he asks. He needs to know. He needs to know now.

"You have been doing good work. I wanted to show my appreciation," Ragnar offers. "I also want you to know that you are safe here, with us. With me. If you let me show you." He's saying these things in that soft voice of his, the one Athelstan is only getting to know. Ragnar wants to persuade him. He wonders why, not for the first time. 

"Stop thinking," Ragnar interrupts. "Your god cannot want you to think so much. He gave you this body, didn't he?" And with that he is behind him. His chest a fully fleshed reality at his back. It makes Athelstan's breath stop. Ragnar's stomach as he inhales pushes against him, his arms are reaching around both sides of his own body for something in front of them - it's too much. He feels more warm water splash over his head and neck and is relieved to breathe out. 

Athelstan realizes he hasn't said anything. That he should say something. He should say something about his vows again. 

"Ssh. Let me take care of you." Ragnar's hand is on his chest now, gliding smoothly downwards. It feels gentle. Ragnar is not gentle. Athelstan notices he's breathing fast when Ragnar's hand reaches his stomach. "Ragnar," he tries, but finds he has nothing more to say. 

He lets it happen. He could have stepped away, probably, but he is not sure how at the moment. Because now there is Ragnar's hand around his cock. It must be his hand, even though it feels much better than a hand could feel, and he can't look down to be certain. 

He's making a noise he didn't know he had in him. A noise he'd feared sometimes was part of him, and now hears out loud for the first time, like from a stranger. It feels too good, kind of perfect, like Ragnar knows his body, even though he doesn't know his own body himself. 

How is this possible? So many questions, so many things to wonder about. "That's right, my little monk," Ragnar whispers in his ear. Athelstan winces. He turns and presses his forehead against Ragnar's throat. Bastard. He wants to hide his shame, his pleasure. He groans when Ragnar licks along his neck.

"Spill for me, my little monk." Ragnar sounds more urgent now, has gathered him closer, is moving faster. Athelstan is sort of aware what part of Ragnar is hot and hard along his side. He wonders how it's all going to end. But then he doesn't, because it is. He cries out, spasms forward, has no control over his body, is held up by arms around his sides, is pressed back against another body, is embraced, firmly. He can't fall. He let go before he knew he would, and now he is still here, with that other body around him. Ragnar's body. With Ragnar. Whoever he is.

He has so much to find out.


End file.
